


Christmas in July

by sassyjumper



Series: Post-finale Road Trip [5]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyjumper/pseuds/sassyjumper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House tries to do something nice on Wilson's first day of chemo.  Set during the post-series road trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas in July

**Author's Note:**

> Written for challenge at Sick!Wilson on LJ back in December. I used this prompt: Wilson opts for chemo, and after a difficult first day on the drug, he comes home to find that House has done his best to decorate their home for the holidays for him.

 

 

 

House stared at the sweater-vest-clad Christmas moose, wondering what force had compelled him to walk into this hell.

“Y’all findin’ whacher lookin’ for?” a female voice broke into his thoughts.

House cringed at the exaggerated drawl. One thing he’d registered during his short time in Houston was that many “folks” had minimal Southern accent. Some even insisted that Texas was part of the _West,_ not the South.

Except when they wanted to sell you something. Then the folksy twang was dialed up.

House slowly turned to confront a round, creepily pleasant middle-aged face. “Yeah, I’m good.” He hooked a thumb toward the plush toy on the display behind him. “This is the moose of my dreams.”

The Forever Christmas saleslady laughed. “You sure? We got a whole moose section in the back.”

House squinted. “A moose section?”

“Sure! We got everything from moose ornaments to those wire-frame ones ya put on your lawn and they light up. You know what I’m talkin’ about?”

House faux-smiled. “I don’t have a lawn. And I’m not insane, so…”

“Oh,” the saleslady chuckled and waved a hand at him. “Well, I can’t blame you if you _are_ partial to this moose. He’s just adorable.”

House cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s not…” He trailed off, looking at the beaming face before him. He was going to explain that his previous moose statement was an example of sarcasm. But another thing he’d learned on this road trip was that snark was often a waste of time in the South. Most people either didn’t get it, willfully ignored it, or battled it with aggressive optimism.

It was a bit unnerving.

“Well,” the saleswoman clapped her hands together. “If you need help findin’ anything else, just holler. You’re the only one in here.” Despite those words, she leaned in close to whisper. “Truthfully, we don’t get many folks this time of year, even with all the discounts.”

House furrowed his brow. “Is it gauche to have a giant glowing moose on your lawn in July?”

The saleslady smiled and shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about gauche. But I have one on my lawn all year.”

House nodded. “Because it’s Forever Christmas.”

“Sure is. I’ll let you look around now.”

Just as House started toward the door and freedom, Christmas lady piped up again. “Oh, hey…Just wonderin’. What did bring you in here, hon?”

House paused. He wanted to keep walking, but…that question was actually a good one. And he never could ignore a good question.

But what could he say? _Well, I’m walking around aimlessly because my best friend is at MD Anderson having his first round of chemo today, and I can’t be there because I’m a world-famous medical genius who could be recognized if I stepped foot in the place. And I can’t afford to be recognized because I’m fake-dead. So my friend is sitting through hours of treatment by himself, and then he’ll come home on a shuttle bus._

That just sounded silly. And it didn’t answer the question anyway.

Why had he limped straight into the last place on earth he’d normally go? House didn’t really know. He’d just seen the lights and the dopey name on the store façade and wandered over. And then he’d noticed the ridiculous sweater-wearing stuffed moose in the window—surrounded by chipmunks, penguins, bears and various other implausible friends in winter wear.

And the next thing he knew, he was inside the joint.

House looked at the saleswoman, who was now gazing at him curiously. He shrugged. “I have no idea.” He turned abruptly and poked his cane toward the back of the store. “I’ll be in the moose section.”

 

******

 

This had to be the most incredibly lame thing he’d ever done in his 53 years.

House sat on the couch in their short-term rental, staring at the Forever Christmas bags on the floor in front of him. The moose was perched atop one of them, so he grabbed it and sat it on the couch next to him—just so he wouldn’t have to keep looking at the thing.

As he slowly pulled the rest of his purchases out and laid them on the coffee table, he became more and more disgusted with himself. Long strings of multi-colored lights. A wreath with pine cones and berries. Eggnog-scented candles. Garland. Fucking _garland._

It was Wilson’s fault, House decided. The moron had given him his credit card and said he should buy a few things to jazz up their temporary home.

House had readily accepted the assignment, since this place had made him uncomfortable from day one. It was about as homey as a hospital room—which was sad since the apartment complex specifically catered to families of patients at Houston’s medical centers.

House had objected to the housing plan at first, citing his long-standing aversion to sick people and their families. But really, there’d been no better choice. The complex had a shuttle to and from MD Anderson, and Wilson was going to need a non-motorcycle mode of transport.

So for now it was home. And House was gonna deck the hell out of the halls, with symbols of a god-story he didn’t believe in.

“I’m losing it,” he mumbled, but then smiled a moment later when he pulled out the one item that didn’t embarrass him: A box of praline pecans—because that shit was delicious whatever your belief system.

Before House could figure out what to do with the pile of merriment before him, his cell phone rang.

“Yeah?” he answered, knowing it could only be one person.

“I’m on my way back.” Wilson’s voice sounded weary. Which was perfectly normal.

“You OK?”

“Um, yeah.”

_Right._ “Did you get sick already?”

“Um…yeah. Just once.”

“Typical,” House said, trying to sound annoyed.

He heard Wilson sigh. “Yes. It was very rude of me.”

They’d both figured Wilson would get sick. He would, of course, be given antiemetics before and after the chemo, but with the regimen he was on there was almost no chance of avoiding nausea. Plus, Wilson was a puker by nature.

“Not rude,” House corrected, opening the pecan box. “Just typical. You never could hold your chemo.”

There was silence, and for a moment House thought the connection had been dropped. But then Wilson sighed softly again. “OK. I just…wanted to see if you’re there. Have a bucket ready.”

“I always do,” House said before Wilson hung up.

He sat back on the couch. It was probably a mistake for Wilson to be shuttling back and forth like that. Chiu had wanted him to stay in the hospital for the first treatment cycle, considering how intense it was: infusions of doxorubicin and cisplatin three days in a row, instead of the usual one day, and two oral drugs on top of that.

Still, Wilson had insisted on going home each day; he’d told Chiu he had a friend who could take care of him. A friend who apparently couldn’t be bothered to accompany him to the hospital.

House had agreed that Chiu’s advice made sense. But Wilson had been adamant: “You know I hate hospital lighting,” he’d reminded.

But really, House knew Wilson just didn’t want to be alone. And to be honest, House didn’t either.

They'd gotten…used to each other on this trip. So much so that Wilson had rented a one-bedroom apartment. At House’s questioning, he'd explained that it was cheaper that way, and that he'd just sleep on the couch so they’d both have a room.

“You’ve got cancer and I’m a cripple,” House had responded. “No one is sleeping on a couch.”

After an awkward few moments of staring at each other, Wilson had nodded, and that was that. They were sharing a bed. And not talking about it.

House looked at his purchases again and suddenly felt overwhelmed by how bizarre this all was. What the hell was happening to him? Buying a mountain of Christmas cheer in July? Or ever?

He shook his head and began to toss everything back in the shopping bags. After a quick look around, he realized there was no good place to hide them in this tiny, one-closet hole. So he decided to just chuck them in the hall, in front a neighbor’s door.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” he muttered as he limped heavily toward the door—just as Wilson was opening it.

_Oh. That was fast._

The first thing House noticed was how pale Wilson was. Dark circles were already forming under his eyes, and his lips were dry and starting to crack.

House swallowed. “What? Did you call from the parking lot?”

Wilson let his backpack slip from his shoulder before shutting the door and leaning back against it. “More like a block away,” he said tiredly. “I guess I’m still not used to the route—”

Wilson paused as his eyes fell to the bags in House’s hands. He looked back up, in classic Wilsonian confusion. “Forever Christmas?”

“You told me to decorate the place,” House defended, dropping the bags.

Wilson stared for a few seconds then unscrewed the cap from his giant water bottle. He needed to drink constantly to help flush the cisplatin and cyclophosphamide from his kidneys.

After a couple gulps, Wilson returned his attention to House. “It’s July.”

“I know. There was a sale.”

“I’m Jewish and you’re an atheist.”

“I’m tall and you’re annoying.”

Wilson sighed. “I need to sit down.”

He slowly rounded the couch before stopping in his tracks and peering at House. “New friend?”

House groaned internally. _Fucking moose._

He gestured at his shopping bags. “He broke free.”

Wilson nodded then flopped onto the couch. He slumped down, letting his head find the backrest and closing his eyes. House watched him for a few moments before sitting down next to him, with the moose in between them.

“How was it?” he asked tentatively—stupidly, actually. It was four-prong chemo. Obviously it had been a rollicking good time.

Wilson kept his eyes closed as he took another swig from his water bottle. “It was…boring.”

House smiled a little, and Wilson went on. “I was actually almost glad to start vomiting. Most excitement I’ve had all day.”

“Did they give you meds to take home?” House asked, again stupidly. Of course they’d given Wilson antiemetics for the road. Why the hell had he lost all ability to converse, or at least ridicule?

“Yeah,” Wilson sighed. “Just took another dose on the bus.”

House nodded, even though Wilson’s eyes were still closed. “What do you want for dinner?”

Wilson groaned. “God, I can’t even think about food.”

“You need to eat,” House said, wincing at the nagging tone in his voice.

Wilson scrubbed a hand over his face then looked at him. “Seriously. What’s with the Christmas stuff?”

House rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s a way more important topic.”

Wilson gave him the “I’m waiting” face.

“I don’t know,” House said honestly. “I was walking past the place and…It seemed like it might cheer you up, OK? You always like lame, hokey shit.”

Wilson blinked and House sighed. “Every year around Christmas you…seem happier for some reason. You get drunk at the holiday party. You give me presents even though I won’t open them. You…”

House trailed off because Wilson was gazing at him intently now, and it made him feel exposed. _Fucking Christmas moose._

As House thought the words, Wilson reached for said moose and sat it on his stomach. He smiled faintly as he studied the fuzzy face. “Is this for you or for me?”

House snorted. “All yours. Now you can bring a fwend with you to the hospital.”

Wilson nodded, the odd little smile still in place. House felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach, so he decided more snark was in order.

“Actually, if I know you, you’ll have some oncology nurse on your lap before round two is over tomorrow.”

“Mmm,” Wilson said with a smirk. “I…somehow doubt that. Maybe I’ll just keep this guy in my backpack. I’ll feel better knowing he’s nearby.”

“Yeah, whatever,” House said, crossing his arms and looking toward the black TV screen. “Just don’t give it to some bald chemo kid. I did not buy that thing for a cancer patient. I bought it for you.”

He could feel Wilson looking at him now, but he kept staring straight ahead. He didn’t think he could handle seeing Wilson’s expression just then; he felt idiotic enough as it was.

Wilson cleared his throat. “Um…So maybe Chinese?”

House turned his head a bit. “For dinner,” Wilson clarified. “I could handle some rice, at least. Just call that same place from a few nights ago.”

House nodded then reached for his cell phone, glad to have something to do. “Yeah. Fine.”

“House?” Wilson said before he could make the call. “Thanks for…you know.”

“Yep,” House chirped. “Don’t mention it. To anyone. Ever.”

Wilson exhaled a soft laugh. “Yeah. No problem.”

“And for the record,” House continued, “after this cancer crap is over, I’m finding some spare friends. Hanging out with just you has caused me to sink to a depth of lameness I didn’t know existed. I need a couple badass poker buddies or something.”

“Yes. Your old poker gang was so fierce. Dry-cleaner, accountant—”

“Hey,” House cut him off. “That dry-cleaner could kill a man with his bare hands.”

“And press the shit out of his shirt.”

House felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “That, too. OK, pukey, can I order your rice now?”

Wilson nodded, but unlike House, he didn’t fight the smile spreading across his face. House had to glance away—so he could dial up the take-out place.

As he was finishing the call, House felt the couch shift. Wilson was slowly pushing to his feet, the moose still in hand.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I’m gonna change, then hopefully pass some cyclophosphamide.”

House watched Wilson shuffle toward the bedroom, taking in his hunched shoulders and weary steps. He wished he could do something more than buy garland and order Chinese. But for now this was all he had.

“Hey,” House called after him. “Just so you know…This counts as your Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Diwali present. Don’t expect another moose in December.”

Wilson paused in the doorway but didn’t turn around. “If that’s how you feel,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse. He put a hand on the doorjamb. “But I think we should talk about it in December.”

“Yeah,” House murmured, mostly to himself, as Wilson disappeared into the other room.

 

 

_\--End_

 


End file.
